“Rather,” bleated Ffolliott. “And though, between you and me (hiccup), Foljambe’s a conceited ass, he is rather a remarkable ass; and I don’t know whether you have noticed it (hiccup), but in these days it takes rather a clever fellow to be a remarkable ass.”
Doome smote Ffolliott a rollicking buffet, that sent more liquor down his trousers:
“By the Greek gods,” cried Doome, “we are having a roaring evening, eh? Hang me, we are only bachelors once—so we’ll make gay whilst the moon shines. Damn it, you shall sing.”
“Oh, yes; I’ll sing. I can’t—but I will——”
Fluffy Reubens came up and pushed Ffolliott aside roughly:
“Hist!” said he—“Doome, the bailiff’s asleep....” He turned round and called in a loud whisper: “Rippley!”
“’Ullo!”
“Have you got the furniture vans all ready?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”